


Not in the History Books

by Halbereth



Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Captain America Reverse Big Bang 2018, Don't worry Bucky is 19 in this, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Missing Scene, My First Fanfic, the fluff is in the flashback
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-06-01 09:16:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15139949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Halbereth/pseuds/Halbereth
Summary: “Either you’re afraid to find out that it’s Bucky or you already believe it’s him and you’re afraid I’ll kill him. You wouldn’t ask Fury to pull me if the suspect were anyone else, and you know it.” She glared at him. “That’s a pretty high-handed move. You’d better begratefulI think you’re too close to this, or I’d be a lot more upset than I am.”~A comics-'verse WWII-era getting-together fic, told in flashback during a missing scene from Ed Brubaker'sCaptain America: Winter Soldierstory arc. Done for the 2018 CapRBB. Includes cliffs notes for those unfamiliar with the comics!





	Not in the History Books

**Author's Note:**

  * For [artistichound](https://archiveofourown.org/users/artistichound/gifts).



> This is a missing scene from the _Captain America: Winter Soldier_ comic omnibus by Ed Brubaker, inspired by [artistichound’s](https://archiveofourown.org/users/artistichound) beautiful art for the 2018 Cap Reverse Big Bang. Many thanks to my enthusiastic and encouraging beta [Pineau_noir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pineau_noir/pseuds/Pineau_noir), especially for her attention to the fine details of dialogue and characterization.
> 
> Since this is based on the comics, things are a little different from the MCU, and since it’s a missing scene, it takes place in the middle of a giant soap opera-esque story (because comics). It should mostly make sense on its own, even if you haven't read any comics/this particular story arc
> 
> But if you’re not comfortable jumping straight in, here’s some context. 
> 
> MAJOR POINTS  
> \- Bucky was Captain America’s “kid sidekick” as far as the in-universe comics, press, and general knowledge are concerned. He was actually a trained covert operative, though he did start working with Steve when he was 16. (Definitely counts as a child soldier and very not okay in the real world, but . . . comics.) His dad was in the army--no mention of his mom; she’s presumably dead--and when his dad died, he stayed at the base and kind of grew up in the army.  
> \- In the comics, Bucky and Steve are presumed dead in the same incident: falling off/being caught in the explosion of a drone/plane/rocket thing.  
> \- Sharon Carter is a SHIELD agent, Steve’s ex-girlfriend and his current SHIELD liaison (and kind of keep-an-eye-on-Cap person for Nick Fury). Neal, the guy she was dating when she took the liaison position, apparently got insecure and snippy about it, so they broke up; this appears to have happened relatively recently. She reports less to Fury than Fury thinks she does but more than Steve thinks she does. 
> 
> MINOR POINTS  
> \- The book opens with the Red Skull (yes, he’s still around--somehow) being assassinated. Convoluted events ensue, but it transpires that this Russian guy named Lukin, who is the head of the Kronas Corporation, had a mysterious assassin shoot him from ridiculously far away. The rifle is recovered at an airport, along with some security footage of someone who looks a lot like Bucky.  
> \- Among the convoluted events that ensued was the theft of a bomb the Red Skull had planned to set off in New York, which Lukin arranges to have go off in Philadelphia instead. Neal (Sharon’s ex) is killed in the explosion.  
> Lukin’s assassin captures Sharon in order to lure Steve to Philly. This means Sharon has seen Lukin’s assassin; she says it’s Bucky. Steve thinks he sees him when he’s on the ground trying to rescue people from the aftermath of the explosion. He’s attacked by random evil henchmen and a shadowy figure shoots one of them. For a second, he thinks it’s Bucky, and says his name; shadowy figure says “Who the hell is Bucky?” and disappears.  
> \- Nick Fury (who, by the way, is white and was around in WWII in the comics; still head of SHIELD and grumpy dude with an eyepatch) reveals that he has some other stills from camera footage around the time of major assassinations that seem to show the same Bucky-ish person--across decades.  
> \- SHIELD plans to raid the headquarters of the Kronas Corporation and confront Lukin about all of this.
> 
> Enjoy!

Steve caught sight of Sharon out on the flight deck, standing motionless, staring out towards the horizon. Fury was nowhere to be seen; he’d apparently finished with whatever he’d needed her for. Now was as good a time as any, then. Steve approached her. “Sharon, can I have—”

“No,” she said flatly, and the harsh tone of her voice surprised him. He put a cautious hand on her elbow.

“Sharon?”

She whirled towards him, yanking her arm back. “Neal’s dead, Steve,” she said thickly. He felt it like a punch in the gut. “He’s the one who found the bomb. Went off _as he checked in._ ”

Steve flinched. “God, Sharon, I am so—”

“I know,” she cut him off. “And thank you, all right?” She took a deep breath. “But if this isn’t an emergency, go the fuck away. I can’t _liaise_ with my ex-boyfriend right now.”

“I understand,” Steve murmured. “Anything I can do, you call me.”

She gave him a nod, then crossed her arms and stared out at the sky again. Steve took that as the dismissal it was and faded away into the shadows of the helicarrier deck.

He stood in thought for a long time, then went to find Fury.

~~~~~~~~~

_**“Hey!”**_ The voice cut through Steve’s awareness as he neared the end of his morning run. The sun was just past up and the air was crisp. He’d passed a few dog-walkers and early-morning runners like himself. Overall, though, the streets were as empty as New York ever got. He liked it, liked the feel of the city as it woke from slumber, full of clean light and fresh air and potential. There was also no one likely to notice a young man completing the better part of a marathon as part of his daily routine.

He glanced across the street. A muscular blonde woman in an orange tank top was striding toward him. She seemed to have been waiting by the disguised, apparently-abandoned building where he lived. “Oh, hey, Sharon…”

“What the hell do you think you’re _doing_ , you son of a bitch?!”

“Well, I just finished a twenty-mile run, and I was planning to work on the heavy bag for a while…”

“Don’t try and get cute with this, Steve Rogers! You told Fury to take me off the team for the Kronas op.”

Steve blinked, more startled than anything else. Fury was never so forthcoming with him. “He _told_ you?”

Sharon crossed her arms. “No, _you_ did . . . just now. Like Nick Fury’s going to give you up,” she added, disgusted. “You should know better.”

 _Shit._ Steve could hear Bucky sigh in his mind. _Walked into that one._ “Why don’t we take this inside?” Shaking his head, he walked toward the holographic wall that masked the entrance to his home, Sharon following.

“Just tell me what you’re _thinking,_ ” Sharon said, exasperated, as he worked the retinal scan and deactivated the other security measures. “I’m one of the best field agents they’ve got.”

“Sure you are,” Steve said, “but you’re too close to this one.”

“Oh, and you’re _not?_ ”

“Not the way you are,” he said, leading the way up the stairs and into his living room. More of that clean morning light poured in through the windows. “I want justice for the people who died in Philadelphia, and I want answers. You’re looking for revenge.”

“Oh, you are _so_ full of it!” Sharon burst out. “You don’t think I can tell when you’re keeping your anger bottled up? Just admit that you don’t want me along because you’re scared.”

“Of what?” Steve challenged.

“That I’ll kill him,” she replied. “Bucky.”

He turned away from her, looking out the window. “That’s not—that’s not true. And we _don’t_ know that’s who we’re dealing with.”

“I saw him with my own eyes, Steve. I heard his voice.”

He glanced back at her sharply. “You didn’t know him.” His voice came out harsher than he meant it to.

“Do you know how many times I watched the newsreels of you and him from the war?” Sharon asked, her expression edging more toward tired than angry. “I know his voice.”

Steve leaned one hand on the window. “That can all be faked. Bucky would _never_ have done what this Winter Soldier has.”

“All the evidence points to it. Denial won’t change that, and it won’t get us answers.”

“There has to be some other explanation.”

“Or there isn’t, and you’re sabotaging this mission by keeping me off it because you’re afraid.”

“I wouldn’t—”

“Either you’re afraid to find out that it’s him or you already believe it’s him and you’re afraid I’ll kill him. You wouldn’t ask Fury to pull me if the suspect were anyone else, and you know it.” She glared at him. “That’s a pretty high-handed move. You’d better be _grateful_ I think you’re too close to this, or I’d be a lot more upset than I am.”

Steve didn’t reply and didn’t turn back toward her. His right hand was clenched at his side, the other hand forced flat against the cool glass of the windowpane.

“That’s what I thought,” Sharon said heavily. “I’m talking to Fury. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He heard her turn and start to stride back out of the room toward the concealed entrance.

“Wait,” Steve called, before he could think. Her footsteps stopped. He furrowed his brow. 

Dammit. He’d meant to help her by keeping her off the mission, to spare her what he was going through. That’s what he’d told himself, anyway. Maybe she was right. He braced himself against a rising tide of panic.

“Are you going to say something?” Sharon demanded.

He heard her turn to leave again.

“There’s something I didn’t tell you,” he forced himself to say. He took a deep breath and turned to see her standing in the doorway.

Steve sat down on the low bookshelf beneath the windows, motioned her toward the black leather couch. She took a few steps back into the room, but didn’t sit down. “I’m sorry,” he said, shoulders slumping. “You’re right. I’m…emotionally compromised here. About Bucky.” He licked his lips and felt a sudden surge of adrenaline, his pulse racing as it did in the quiet moment before an ambush or in the seconds after making a parachute jump—the feeling of having started something he couldn’t take back. “You’ve got to understand something first. What I’m going to tell you doesn’t make me a damn bit more compromised than you thought, Agent 13. Just _differently_ compromised.” 

Sharon looked at him coolly in that clear morning light, vibrant and angry and thoroughly unimpressed. “Whatever the hell you’re trying to tell me here, Steve, spit it out, because I am _leaving—_ ”

“We were lovers.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Sharon stared at him. When she spoke, her voice was completely calm. Inwardly, Steve winced. He knew that voice. It was her “bad news on a mission” voice.

“You,” she said quietly. “You and Bucky Barnes.”

“Yes.” It was funny, he thought, in a quiet place inside a shell of cold anxiety. He might be torn apart in all directions--terrified and angry and desperate about the Winter Soldier, about the chance someone was insulting Bucky’s legacy, hopeful and dreading that it could truly be him; furious about the desecrated graves; grimly intent on uncovering whoever had masterminded the explosion; aching with compassion for Sharon’s loss and for the pain that this new revelation would cause her—might be slogging through this all rolled under the screaming habits of years and years, crying out _don’t tell, don’t tell_ and the newer fear, _I never told her, what will she think of me?_ —might actually, if he looked at it head-on, be forced to admit that he _was_ too close to this, that all of it was too damn much and he was starting to doubt his own judgment. He might be floating in a sea of dread and sorrow and regret, but, somehow, finally telling someone felt right.

It didn’t feel like a betrayal.

It felt like a memorial.

( _And it is,_ ) he told himself firmly. ( _This can’t be Bucky. Bucky’s dead. This is just . . . relevant intel. And sharing with someone who might understand.)_

But the incredulous look Sharon gave him was almost enough to shake that conviction.

“Steve. There is _so much_ —no.” She broke off and pinched the bridge of her nose, holding up the other hand. Steve felt the knot tighten in his stomach. “No, keep going. Just—go.”

There was something he was missing here. It was probably important, but right now, in the rush of confession, everything else felt distant. “He was my partner, you know,” Steve said, struggling for words. “Not my sidekick. Not the kid the comics made him out to be. At first I mostly noticed and admired the ways he was like me, or like the kind of person I wanted to be. But as we got to know each other, I saw the ways he wasn’t. Things he’d think of that wouldn’t occur to me, things he did that I’d never do.” Steve cleared his throat. “He was, ah, very popular with the ladies. At least, that’s what he let us all see.”

The scenes swam vividly before his eyes. He hadn’t had a chance to speak at Bucky’s funeral. Of course he hadn’t; he’d been frozen, presumed dead himself. But now the eulogy he had never had a chance to give found itself welling up, spilling off his tongue. “He was—well. He wasn’t anything like the character in the comics, for one thing. But you’d already guessed that.” Sharon nodded. “The comics, they needed someone to be the butt of the jokes, and tell kids how _you_ can help the war effort, and all that, so they made up an impatient kid who made lots of mistakes and needed lots of rescuing. But Bucky was smooth and clever and quick as hell. Best person I ever knew for getting out of a tight spot, and no one I’d rather have at my back. He spoke four languages and could flirt and cuss in all of ‘em, he was terrible at poker until the stakes were high or he was playing against Fury, and he loved dogs, kids, and collecting cigarette cards. He could turn on the whole ‘boyish charm’ thing and get invited to dinner by all the women missing their own sons off at war—ate better than any of us when we were in friendly territory. And he was just as good an agent. He could break into a base and steal intel and plant bombs and get back in time for chow before anyone even noticed the guards were missing.”

He looked at the floor before continuing, softer, “He’s the only person who would take me seriously as Cap and Steve both.”

“You’ve said all that before,” Sharon said, also quiet.

“’S all true,” Steve said, feeling the corners of his lips tug up at the fond memories.

Sharon leaned against the back of the couch she knelt on and gave him an appraising look. “I believe you. But you said you had something new I needed to know. _Tell me._ ”

It was interesting to be on this side of a field interrogation, Steve thought wryly. But it was also him and Sharon. He could do this. He could honor Bucky by telling the full truth, for once.

“He—” Steve took a shuddering breath, then let the words come out, quickly, unheeded. It felt like pressure coming off a wound, the wholesome ache of a healing bruise. “He was the most _generous_ man I’ve ever met. People say I’m inspiring and charismatic, and I suppose I believe them, but--I might make people want to do better, but I don’t make them _comfortable_ , and Bucky did. He could make friends a way I never could. He acted careless and most things really didn’t bother him, but he if he cared about something, he _cared._ He was kind and funny and knew when to be either of those, but he could be serious, too. He knew me well enough to talk me down before I went and did something stupid and self-righteous—and that’s how he said it--but he knew _why_ I’d get that way, what bothered me, and when he wasn’t chewing me out for being an idiot he was . . . gentle.” A low voice, a quiet presence in a moment of grief, calloused hands moving ever-so-carefully over skin. “He had the most wonderful smile. And his hands—he was always talking with his hands, fiddling around, playing with a knife, making something. His voice would get all quiet and faraway when he was thinking, and he’d sit so still—and then jump up and go do something. I loved how he moved, all in a burst like that, or how focused he was sneaking into someplace. He was always either graceful or completely still and I was so jealous, ’cause I could never—” His voice tightened, choked off. “Sorry,” he said after a moment, passing a hand over his eyes. “I haven’t told anyone that before.”

Sharon said nothing.

“I didn’t do anything about it,” Steve said. “That was the smart thing, of course, back then.”

“And you’re always smart about keeping your head down in the face of popular opinion.”

“There was a war on,” Steve said automatically. “I had a duty.” He snorted. “That one always worked on me. Pretty good excuse for not making a fuss. But you’re right. It was an excuse.” He looked at the window at the lightening sky. “I told myself he was too young. That wasn’t really true either; by then, he was— But in another way it was. We were all so damn young.” He shook his head. “And we had to not be.”

“Yeah,” Sharon said coolly. “About that.”

_Oh._ Steve raised his hands. “No, no, nothing like that. He was nineteen when he got tired of waiting for me to make a move and did something about it. As old as I’d been when I signed up for . . .” he gestured at himself. 

“An unknown government science experiment?” 

He tipped his head in acknowledgment. 

"You realize that might not be the best standard for exhibiting good judgment?” But her shoulders had relaxed, and Steve felt his own muscles unclench. 

“I’m not defending either of us, Sharon. But it was—there was a war on, and the _other_ thing that meant was anyone could die any minute. That makes people do stupid things.” He gazed out the window. “Really, that had been my whole life, before the serum. I wanted to be useful and was probably going to die before I was thirty anyway, so why _not_ sign up for the experiment?” He caught a glimpse of the expression on her face before she schooled it away, and added quickly, “It’s not a _good_ reason, I know that, but it didn’t feel like a bad one, either. Sometimes you do a stupid thing and it—it works out. It goes _right._

__

“And he grew up on the base, was everyone’s kid brother and did things, learned things most soldiers learned after Basic, just as part of his normal day. He was fifteen when he signed up for the kind of special training I went through after the experiment. Everyone knew it. No one said anything. 

“What I’m trying to say is, neither of us knew what we were doing, but it didn’t matter, because we did it. No one stopped us, because who knew what might make a difference? We did what we thought we needed to do. We made the stupid gambles the world wanted from us. And then, around the edges, we made the stupid gamble for ourselves. We did what _we_ wanted to do. Even if it took some work to talk me into it. 

“You know the comics were for morale. He wasn’t a kid. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.” He remembered moonlight, quiet voices in the dark. “My partner did the dirty work that I couldn’t do, partly because I had to be a symbol and partly because I couldn’t do it and stay me.” 

Sharon’s gaze remained impassive. “You’re saying Bucky Barnes, Boy Wonder, was a wetwork operative?” 

Steve grimaced. Of course she’d picked up on that part. She couldn’t help but see that as one more piece of evidence that Lukin’s assassin was somehow Bucky. He couldn’t even argue against it, no matter how much he wanted to protect Bucky ( _Bucky’s_ memory, _Rogers,_ he told himself; _he’s dead)_. But Fury knew about it anyway, and most likely had guessed before Steve told him. It wouldn’t do any more harm to admit it now. “That makes it sound pretty twisted, but--yeah, he was." 

“But the boy every kid in America looked up to and read about? Wasn’t he a symbol too?” 

There it was again: Bucky’s own fears, thrown back at him nearly eighty years in the future. Steve winced internally. “If it wasn’t him, it’d’ve been someone else. The brass liked that he was young, because then they could play that angle on the home front, and we hit it off, which didn’t hurt. But he was as highly trained as any older guy they could have sent in. No one on the covert side of it cared about his age. Made it kind of funny when the comics went the other way with it . . . . He didn’t like being treated like a kid, when we met people who only knew the stories, but we laughed about it." 

A pause. 

“Was he good?” 

“You asking as a friend or as a SHIELD agent?” 

She didn’t answer. 

Steve looked her square in the eyes. “I say this with the deepest respect for you, and Colonel Fury, and everyone at SHIELD—he was the best field agent I’ve ever met.” Sharon nodded slowly, as though confirming something. 

Steve wasn’t up to guessing how this fit in with her ideas about Lukin’s assassin right now. It was probably important, but right now, everything else felt distant.  
“Bucky could keep up with the spymasters at least as well as I could, and unlike me, he didn’t dislike it. He was an excellent covert operative. He did things I’d rather no one had to do, and he reminded me that people who do those things are still people I can like, admire, and respect.” He glanced at Sharon through his eyelashes and felt his lips quirk as a thought struck him. “You could say I have a type.” 

Her eyebrows shot up. “I’m not sure what to say to that.” 

Steve shrugged. “I’m not sure what it says about me, let alone you.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it, answering him only with a look. 

"That’s how he—well, asked me out, I guess, if you can call it that. How he initiated things. He reminded me of that, and said if he could be trusted with that kind of burden, he could decide what to do for himself—and that if I really considered him my partner, I’d respect that.” 

Sharon raised her eyebrows. “Manipulative.” 

“Perceptive,” Steve corrected. “He wouldn’t have wanted me if I didn’t believe that anyway. He needed to know. And he was right, I was . . . protective, where I shouldn’t have been. Or not for the right reasons, anyway.” 

“So what happened?” 

He smiled in remembrance of that sunlit day, couldn’t help it. “He told me so.” 

_~_

__

__“You know what?” Bucky said. “I’m tired of this.”__

__“Tired of what?” Steve asked, startled. They’d been sitting quietly under a tree, having set up camp after a successful reconnaissance mission. They were due to rendezvous with Fury and the Howling Commandos the next day, but for now, it was just the two of them in the woods on a fresh spring day—one of the strange moments of peace they occasionally found and savored. Bucky’d been carving something out of a thick fallen branch; Steve had been leaning against the trunk, listening to the sounds of birds and leaves in the wind, half-asleep._ _

__“Tired of wondering,” Bucky replied. “Tired of you looking at me and pretending you’re not.”_ _

__Steve went pale and scrambled around to face him. “What’re you saying?”_ _

__“You know what I mean,” Bucky said, a little red himself. As Steve made to stand up, he put a hand on his leg, pushing him back down. “Settle down. I’m not mad.” He licked his lips and seemed to brace himself. “Mostly, I—I’m tired of trying not to look myself.”_ _

__Steve stared at him._ _

__Bucky laughed, sheepish. “You really didn’t notice? I mean, I tried to hide it, but I didn’t think I did a very good job. Not from you.”_ _

__There it was--one last chance to back out. But he never could stand to let someone else put more on the line than he did…_ _

__“. . . I thought I was imagining things,” Steve said, hoarse. “Wishful thinking.”_ _

__The tension in the other man’s posture lightened, and he gave a sly smile as though to deny it had ever been there. “Is that so?”_ _

__Steve felt the blush climbing up his face. His pulse raced with hope, anticipation, and sheer nerves. He’d never been good at flirting. “It is.”_ _

__“You want me, then.” It wasn’t phrased as a question, and Bucky’s body language exuded confidence, except—there was a seeking quality in his tone of voice. “You want me enough that you thought you must be imagining that I’d want you.”_ _

__“You got me.” Steve met his grin with one of his own—anxious and rueful and relieved, he thought, and at least some of that must have gotten through, because Bucky seemed to relax even more._ _

__“You have no idea how great it is to hear that,” he breathed. “I was starting to go crazy.”_ _

__“Look, Bucky—” Steve began, his head whirling._ _

__“Rogers, if you’re not going to say I’ve got this all wrong, just shut up for minute.”_ _

__Steve raised his eyebrows and pointedly fell silent, feeling himself blush even more fiercely. After a beat, Bucky, who seemed to have been searching for words, caught on. He let out a (reasonably quiet, no point in drawing attention) whoop and a huff of delighted laughter. “You are—you really—you don’t mind?”_ _

__For all his bluster earlier, he must not have been terribly certain of his conclusions. Steve’s chest ached in sympathy for the courage it must have taken him to say something. Still, he mustered a sardonic look and shook his head, remaining silent._ _

__Bucky rolled his eyes. “You can talk, smartass.”_ _

__“No, I don’t mind you looking at me,” Steve said, nerves on fire with the sheer strangeness of talking about this. He wanted to reach out, put a hand on Bucky’s knee, but he wasn’t sure he should. “I_ really _don’t mind. I, ah, I’m—honored?”__

__Bucky snorted. “And you were looking back.”_ _

__“I tried not to,” Steve admitted, feeling he was teetering on the edge of a precipice, “but I did. Um. A lot.”_ _

__“Look as much as you want.” Bucky stood up and stretched. He looked much better out of the ridiculous costume, Steve thought, even if it did fit in interesting ways. The regular uniform flattered his broad shoulders and slender frame rather than hiding them, and now, as he stood in the sun in just an undershirt, it was apparent just how much lean muscle Bucky actually had. The shirt hugged his shoulders and biceps and skimmed his torso, suggesting more strength underneath. A few faded scars crossed his arms. The sun dappled through leaves to strike his dark hair, sparking it from chestnut to coffee. He moved with casual, confident grace in a way Steve never had, before the serum or after. And it was all on display—Bucky was blatantly showing off, and not for some giggling dame at a pub, for_ Steve. _He bit his lip.__

__“We’re all alone out here until tomorrow,” Bucky said, casually._ _

__“What?” Steve asked, dazed. Then, as the implication set in, “No. We can’t—”_ _

__“Why not?” He crouched down by Steve. “Come on, pal. Tell me if I’ve got this wrong. But I thought—when that wall fell on me last month—seemed like you wanted to do more than look.” His brow was furrowed, and his eyes were just unfair._ _

__It was much, much harder for Steve to put his barriers back up, now that he’d finally lowered them._ _

__“Yes,” he breathed. “Oh God yes, Buck.”_ _

__“Then what’s the problem?”_ _

__Steve huffed a bitter half-laugh. “Where d’you want to start? I’m your CO, for one thing. We could both get blue-ticketed out, for another.”_ _

__“Thought we were partners.” Bucky drew away a little, hurt._ _

__“Sure we are,” Steve protested. “Doesn’t change that on paper, I outrank you, and we shouldn’t be doing this.”_ _

__“Since when do you care about rules?” Bucky asked. “Or risks?”_ _

__Steve shifted uncomfortably on his tree root._ _

__“What’s the real problem, Steve?” His expression suddenly softened. “I know I’ve, uh, probably got more experience in this department than you, but—”_ _

__“No!” Steve exclaimed, going red again. “I mean—yes, probably, but—but that wouldn’t—oh man, I hadn’t even thought of—”_ _

__“You hadn’t?” Bucky looked like he couldn’t help the small smile on his face._ _

__“I hadn’t let myself think that far,” Steve said honestly. Heat twisted in his gut as he started to, embarrassment and arousal mixing and swirling. He also couldn’t help thinking of what that meant, and the jealousy and admiration that stirred whenever he saw Bucky flirting and teasing with the women in whatever town they happened to be in roared up in full force as he imagined—as abstractly as he could—Bucky with another man, that challenging grin being matched, not with a giggle, but with a punch on the arm; the touch of—he wrenched his thoughts away._ _

__“Are you alright with it?” Bucky asked, looking anxious again. Steve closed his eyes, slipping back into the thought. Now it was_ him _Bucky was touching, teasing, guiding to bed—__

__“Completely,” he said, hoarse again, clamping down on all of that. It was not an option, dammit._ _

__“Then what’s the problem?”_ _

__He sighed, picking pieces of bark off his uniform. “You’re too damn young, Buck.”_ _

__Now Bucky looked almost affronted. “You know I’m not the kid in the comics, right? I’m_ nineteen, _Cap. I’m no younger than you were when you signed up for this.”__

__“Yeah, and if I were still nineteen we wouldn’t still be talking,” Steve shot back. (He set aside, for the moment, Bucky’s look of pleased surprise and his own fierce twist of lust.) “But I’m not. I’m twenty-three, and I’m responsible for—” (_ you _, he nearly said, biting it off in time)—“this. I’m not going to take advantage of—”  
“I’m the one who brought this up, in case you didn’t notice!” Bucky stood up again, exasperated, and started pacing. “You’re not taking advantage of _ anything _. I’m no innocent. Hell, we just agreed I’m more likely to take advantage of_ you _.”__

__Steve could only shake his head, weakly. “I still—”_ _

__“Steve.” Bucky stopped and faced him head-on. “Yesterday . . .”_ _

__Steve shifted awkwardly, but Bucky’s gaze nailed him to the spot. It was hard to focus, hard to stand firm the way he needed to, against those deep brown eyes. It was hard not to be distracted by the firm set of those shoulders, the curl of hair almost falling into his left eye—but the emotion and naked honesty in the other man’s voice tipped the balance. “Those men I killed yesterday. I’ve been doing that for years. I’ve been a scout and an assassin since I was sixteen. If I’m man enough for that, don’t you think I’m man enough for this?”_ _

__Steve swallowed. “There’s a difference between carrying out a mission and—”_ _

__“Carrying out a mission, hell. This wasn’t just following orders. I volunteered. No, dammit, I jumped at the chance. I know what I’m doing and I’m good at it. And there are people on the other side who are good too, and I’ve lost people to them, Steve. You have too, but—I’ve lost guys I trained with. They weren’t as good as me, and now they’re dead. Or they were as good as me, and they’re dead anyway because someone else was better or got lucky. I know what the work I do means. I know what it costs.” His gaze flickered and Steve was abruptly sure he was thinking of his father as well as his friends. “And I still do it, and I don’t do it because of fucking_ orders, _Steve. I do it because I believe it’ll end this war and save lives, in the end. And if I’m wrong, well, it’s on my soul either way, but it’s_ my choice. _And if you don’t understand that, then you don’t think we’re really equals. You’re either ignoring that I’m a killer or you think I don’t really know what I’m doing.”__

__Breathing heavily, he looked down at Steve. “If you trust me, Steve, if you understand that I do that and you still can stand to look at me—if you still believe we’re partners—then you know you’ve got no right to make this choice for me.”_ _

__“Bucky . . . .”_ _

__“What?” he asked harshly._ _

__Steve shook his head, unsure what to say. “You know I—Of course I can_ stand _you, Bucky, I lo—” He swallowed. “I’m not lying to myself and I don’t think you’re a kid. I just—it’s—” Frustrated, he threw up his hands. “Give me a minute.”__

__“Sure,” Bucky said. He crossed his arms and leaned back against the tree. The pose would look sullen if he weren’t also biting his lip; he was angry, yes, but also still nervous. Steve let his eyes linger, for once, on that bitten lip. Then he shook himself mentally and pulled his attention away—to the muscles in Bucky’s crossed forearms, the slender fingers drumming against his upper arm . . . ._ _

__“You’re really obvious when you have permission,” Bucky remarked, but he didn't sound smug about it this time. He wasn't looking back, either; when Steve's gaze snapped up back to his face, he was staring into the middle distance above Steve's head. Steve snorted and shook himself for real._ _

__“Not my fault you’re distracting. –Sorry. I’ll keep, uh, thinking.” He fell silent again, looking at Bucky but not really seeing him, his mind whirling with incoherent thoughts. Only incidental things really registered: the smell of the forest, the tickle of grass under his palms, the ocean-like whisper of leaves as the breeze rustled the trees. He wouldn’t exactly call it_ thinking _as such. But, as he sat there, he felt himself come to a decision.__

__“You’re right,” Steve said. Bucky’s eyes flicked his face. “I’m sorry. I was out of line. You_ are _my partner, Bucky, and—" Steve met his gaze, heart racing. “—and this is your choice.”__

__Some of the tension left Bucky’s posture, but his arms remained crossed. “You sure you mean that?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Or you just decided you wanna get your hands on the merchandise?”_ _

_“Bucky!” _Steve said, scandalized, face burning. “I wouldn’t—”__

__“I’m kidding, Steve.” He chuckled. “You should see your face.” He shook his head, half smiling, but there was still something subdued about his manner. “Guilt always works on you.”_ _

__Steve suddenly understood. “Hey, no,” he said seriously. “That isn’t what this is. I didn’t say that just because it’s fair. You’re_ right _.” He held out a hand. “C’mere?”__

__Bucky didn’t take his hand, but sat down facing him again, still higher up on the slope, so that they were eye-to-eye. “You’re gonna make a speech, aren’t you?”_ _

__“Maybe,” Steve admitted. “I’m still not going to say this right, but I know what I mean now.” He took a deep breath. “First, I_ do _know what you do. I’m not ignoring it and I don’t hate you for it. I admire you for it, actually. Not what you do, but that you_ can _do it, how you can do what you do and still be the incredibly good man I know you are. You’re the only person I’ve met who made the choice to kill in cold blood not because you want revenge or like killing, but because you’ve thought about it and you decided it needs doing and you want to spare other people from being the one to do it. To spare me, really. I’m . . . ashamed, I guess, because I’m so_ relieved _that you’re there to do it. You’re stronger than me, and I am more—” he paused, groping for words. “More grateful, more admiring, more_ humbled _than I can possibly say.”__

__Bucky was looking at him, eyes suspiciously bright. “Oh,” he said quietly._ _

__Steve smiled a little. “Second,” he said. “You’re right. I feel small and protected because of you and I guess I was trying to protect you back. But that’s not the right way to do it. Of course it’s your decision.”_ _

__“Third,” he went on, “I know you, I respect you, I admire you, and—I want you.” It was still hard to say, and he suspected he was blushing_ again. _  
Bucky cracked a grin.__

__“Do you believe me on all that?”_ _

__Slowly, Bucky nodded, and the grin grew. He opened his mouth to speak, but Steve held up a hand._ _

__“One more thing before we decide—what we do, if we do—anything. What do you_ want _out of this?”__

__“What d’you mean?”_ _

__Steve felt an urge to pull his knees up and rest his arms on them. He ignored it and forced himself to remain relaxed and open. Inside his head, a voice shouted that he was completely lost, that he’d never been any good at this, and now to take the lead on it through a figurative minefield of pride, caution, and desire . . . . Well, Steve thought, he’d never been put in a situation where that was the only safe option before. He tended to do okay when the only way out of a tricky spot was to plow through. Maybe it would even out._ _

__“What do you want this to_ be _, if we do something tonight?” he said finally. “I mean, do you want it to just be tonight, or—No. No, wait, that’s not really what I mean.” Unable to keep looking at Bucky’s face, he looked away, plucked a stem of grass, rolled it between his fingers absently and gazed at that. Bucky waited. “I like you, Bucky,” he said finally. “I don’t want to ruin that. But I like you for more than how you look.”__

__“Aw, don’t worry, Cap, you’ll still have your sidekick,” Bucky chirped in the cartoon voice he used for his character. Then his voice dropped into a serious register. “It won’t ruin anything. Even if it’s no good tonight. But trust me a little, okay?”—and he sounded sultry now--”It’s gonna be good.”_ _

__Steve couldn’t help but smile through his nervousness at that, couldn’t help the stir of arousal it sparked in him. He didn’t_ have _to help it, now, and he reveled in that for a moment. “I didn’t mean that,” he said. “Though, uh, that_ is _good to know. I mean—" He dropped the grass and ran his hand through his hair. “I don’t know how to say this.”__

__“Steve. Look at me, huh?”_ _

__Steve did. Brown eyes met his. “Whatever you’re going to say, I’m listening. And I swear I won’t—it won’t matter. I won’t let it.” His mouth twisted. “I want to stay on your good side too, you know? We’re partners.” A touch of pride in his voice there. “After all we’ve been through, nothing’s going to change that.”_ _

__The same voice inside Steve cried out_ safe, safe, quit while you’re ahead. _But that wasn’t him, was it?__

__“I want you,” Steve forced himself to say, and it wasn’t_ fair _that honesty didn’t cancel out embarrassment, that he knew his cheeks were flaming. “But I—I might be in love with you, too.”__

__He stole a glance up at Bucky’s face, but his expression was unreadable._ _

__Increasingly sure that he was going too far, but determined to see this through, Steve kept talking. “You’re thoughtful and generous and good, and I don’t want to sleep with you if—well, no, I_ do _want to, I want to do anything you’ll let me, but it’d cut me up just as much to do that if all you wanted was, well, the packaging.” He swallowed. That was a real possibility. Steve knew plenty of couples back home who were more good friends who were attracted to each other than people in love. And if the way Bucky flirted with women wasn’t completely a facade, completely different from how he felt and acted around men, he was quite comfortable coming on to someone he simply wanted and liked. Or maybe that was all he’d ever had the opportunity to pursue. Steve, though, didn’t_ want _to pursue anyone he didn’t feel something romantic towards. Better make sure they both knew where they stood before starting anything. “I’m not saying I won’t, because I honestly don’t think I’m strong enough to say no to something we both want,” he admitted, “but you should know. In case it makes a difference. You should know that’s not all I want.” He finally looked back at Bucky, but now Bucky was looking away.__

__“Huh,” he said. “That changes . . .” he looked up, thoughtful, and when he looked back, he wore a wicked grin. “Exactly nothing, Steve.”_ _

__Steve leaned forward, relief flooding through him. “You mean--?”_ _

__“You’re not going to scare me away by saying the part I was too chicken to bring up.”_ _

__“You . . . really?”_ _

__Bucky’s grin got wider. “I know you, Steve. I might be the only person who knows the real you. And so I can say you’re definitely not Captain America, you’re so much better and angrier and funnier and_ real, _and I’d have to be an idiot not to”—his voice dropped just a little—“to love you for that.”__

__Steve blinked hard, delight soaring in his chest, his throat tight. “Really.”_ _

__“Uh-huh.”_ _

__“You love me.”_ _

__“Yep.”_ _

__“You’re sure about that?”_ _

___“Yes.”_

_“Good. _” Steve burst forward from his sitting position, finally,_ finally _touching Bucky for the first time since the conversation began. Bucky laughed as Steve bowled him over, landing half on top of him in the grass. Steve propped himself up on his elbows so Bucky wasn’t taking all his weight. “You know something?” he said casually.__

__Bucky raised his eyebrows, mock-casual, though Steve could feel his heart racing where they were pressed together. He could see Bucky’s pulse jumping in his neck. Hell, from here, he could tell that Bucky’s eyes were a little bit darker than usual, feel Bucky’s quickened breath against his face. “What?”  
Steve leaned in closer. “I love you too.”_ _

__Whether he bent down too fast or Bucky tried to get up was something they would joke about later, but the kiss was awkward, messy, and almost completely obscured by laughter. Steve had rolled off Bucky, shaking his head, and pulled the smaller man to his feet. And_ then _Bucky grabbed him, pulled his head down, and kissed him like—well, like it was the middle of nowhere, and there was a war on, and they’d wanted to do this for years.__

_~~~~~~~_

Sharon’s voice called him back to the present. 

“And then what?” 

“And then we were together for the rest of the war.” 

“How long?” 

“A bit over a year. Year and half, maybe, before . . . .” _Maybe._ Like he didn’t know, like he hadn’t counted it. Well. He’d tried not to. 

“So you were still together, at—” she broke off. “At the end. With the drone.” 

“When we died, yeah,” Steve said. She’d never liked hearing that that, but it was the way that made most sense to him. “When I was lost” was, technically, correct—actually more correct—as was “the island” or “the drone,” but those _felt_ like euphemisms, even if they weren’t. “When he died.” 

“If he did,” Sharon muttered. 

“He was on the drone when it exploded, Sharon.” _Stuck to a death trap because he wanted to do what was right. Doomed by dumb fate and stubbornness and—right after escaping, right after being_ tortured, _Christ, what did I—why didn’t I stop him—_

“And he was on the roof that night, Steve. And on the ground. You _saw_ him.” 

“I told you. I don’t know what I saw.” 

Sharon opened her mouth, then shook her head. “No,” she said firmly. “Not the point right now. Okay. You were together the last year of the war. That’s—” 

"Longer than a year.” The words slipped out before Steve could stop them. He cleared his throat. "It was . . . well. It doesn't matter. It wasn't long enough." 

He thought he saw Sharon’s eyes soften for a second before she returned to the question. “But you’d known him for three years before then.” 

“Yes.” 

“And in your opinion--” 

“Sharon--” 

“I need to ask. In your opinion, would he have been able to make a shot like the one that killed the Red Skull?” 

“He did more infiltration than long-distance work, but he was a pretty good sniper.” He sighed heavily. “Maybe.” 

“The man on the roof was--” 

“ _Don’t_ tell me about Lukin’s assassin right now.” It came out harsher than he meant it to. “Please.” 

He glanced up enough to see Sharon’s eyes flick over him, assessing. “You’re still in love with him.” 

He shrugged, helplessly. “Maybe.” 

“Maybe?” 

“I’m _mourning_ him. I don’t think that’ll ever stop. And with this assassin, the surveillance photos, Fury’s damn face-recognition tech, it’s all . . . It’s a mess.” 

“What would you do if you saw him again?” 

Steve shivered. “God. Don’t ask me that, Sharon.” 

“I have to.” Her tone of voice reminded him she was Agent 13 as well as Sharon. There was a tactical purpose to this conversation, and she, at least, had to focus on that. “If Lukin’s assassin really is him, I need to know what you’ll do.” 

“Talk to him,” he said, tiredly. “Ask him to forgive me, I guess—because if it’s him, it’s some kind of ghost. Bucky died on that drone. I couldn’t save him, he’s dead, and he’s not Lukin’s assassin.” 

She sighed. “At the very least, Lukin’s guy _looks_ like him and _sounds_ like him. What will you do if he comes after you?” 

Cry out, reach out, run. The face of the figure in the smoky wreckage, the voice distorted by the crackle of flames, the sting of smoke in his eyes. And the part he hadn’t mentioned at the briefing, the dead AIM goon, shot in the back before he could shoot Steve. _Who the hell is Bucky?_

“I won’t let anyone else get hurt. Beyond that?” He opened his hands and made a small, sweeping, who-knows gesture. 

“Hmm.” It was definitely her Agent-voice. 

“What?” 

“Well, you’re right that you’re compromised.” He dipped his chin, acknowledging it. “And I think you believe there’s at least a chance the assassin is him.” 

Steve’s jaw tightened. 

“Face it, you wouldn’t have brought it up otherwise,” she said, implacable. “You wouldn’t be this worried if you really thought it couldn’t be him.” 

Steve swallowed, his chest tightening. “I guess.” 

Sharon nodded. “I know how you think. Now.” She took another breath. “Would you mind telling me,” she said, still crisp and professional, as though she were patiently debriefing a new and rather dumb recruit, “why you decided to bring this up now, instead of when we were dating?” 

_Oh._ Steve flinched. There was a reason he rarely lied. It hurt people he cared about, and the people he loved usually had enough pain to deal with already. But that led to a habit of not saying anything when he was uncertain, and that, too, had consequences. 

“I am too smart,” Sharon went on, her tone still measured but growing gradually sharper, “to genuinely believe that this is some kind of one-up-manship, your-boyfriend-died-but- _mine_ -is-back-from-the-dead. I know this is relevant intel. But it _feels_ like the first thing, it really does. And it doesn’t help that apparently you didn’t trust me enough when we started going out to tell me a very important thing about you, and only let me know now that lives are on the line.” 

“It’s not that I didn’t trust you,” Steve began, but Sharon wasn’t done. 

“What _exactly_ weren’t you telling me?” she asked. “Is this the real reason we didn’t work out? You just weren’t interested in the first place?” “No!” Steve exclaimed, shocked. “Nothing like that. I—I thought you were brilliant and capable and tough and beautiful. I fell for you. Pretty hard.” He swallowed and looked up at her, dismayed. “We’ve slept together. Ah. Frequently. Do you really doubt I was attracted to you?” 

“. . . No,” she said, watching him. “No, I suppose not.” Some of the tension faded from her face, though her shoulders were still tight. “You’re blushing, by the way.”  
“Never could help it,” he said absently. “No, it’s not like that at all. I always—” he waved a hand. “What’s the word now. Bisexual.” He took a breath. “I didn’t tell you because it didn’t matter. I was—smitten with you. I was in love with _you._ Wasn’t going to be looking at anyone else. And maybe,” he admitted, under her unwavering gaze, “I still have some habits from growing up that I find hard to shake. Okay?” 

“I believe that,” she said, “and I even understand as far as that goes, but still. Steve. You should have told me. Not about being bi, even—about still being half in love with someone _else._ You know I’d have respected it if you didn’t want to go into details.” 

Steve shrugged. “It didn’t matter,” he repeated. 

“It damn well did to you!” 

He frowned, genuinely confused. “Right. It was my issue. I knew it wouldn’t affect _us_. I honestly didn’t think it was worth bringing up.” 

“It wasn’t worth mentioning that a previous relationship had ended tragically and unexpectedly?” 

“It didn’t affect anything between us, so—no?” 

“It mattered to you— _he_ mattered to you—and if _I_ mattered to you, you should have told me.” 

Steve sighed. “Look. I’ve got unresolved issues about Bucky’s death.” He raised his eyebrows, daring her to debate the phrase. She rolled her eyes and waved him past it. “And you’re saying I should have mentioned that.” She nodded once, the terse, annoyed nod that meant _uh-huh, genius._ He huffed a laugh. “You know, you’re not wrong. You’re just so right that it doesn’t matter anymore.” 

He paused to marshal his thoughts. “We were together for a year and a half,” he said slowly. “When we tried to stop Zemo’s drone—” _Torture pain guilt no my fault I’m so sorry—not **now!**_ he told himself fiercely, and forced himself to stay in the present, to meet Sharon’s eyes. “The last thing I saw before I hit the water was him getting caught in the explosion. And then I woke up in the 21st century.” She cocked her head, expression clearly saying _yes, that’s my point._

“The thing is, if you think about it that way, I’ve got an unresolved relationship with everything I knew before 1945. All of that, everything that was part of my life, that I knew and took for granted and counted on, _all_ of that was suddenly gone. Every single person. And the way other people acted wasn’t even the same half the time. Hell, how they _talk_ changed. It was all gone, right down to the little things: food was different, soap smelled different, cars had more curves than they used to, newspapers were practically _gone_ —and when you found them, they didn’t feel right. They didn’t _smell_ right . . . . Everything was gone. _Everything._ Bucky was only part of that. He just—hurt more. 

“So at the time, to me, it wasn’t that different. Everything had changed, and I missed home so much. But I can’t go back. So I tried to let it all go instead, immerse myself in the present, adapt. Find--what’s the phrase--a new normal. You were real, you were now, you were here. You were willing to love a man out of time, warts and all.” He smiled sadly. “I swear I didn’t think of it as keeping secrets from you. It was all part of the past. I tried to let Bucky go the same way I tried to let everything go, and build a new home, here, with you.” 

“…Dammit, Steve, it’s really hard to be mad at you when you say things like that.” 

“Sorry?” 

“Ugh.” She rubbed her temples. “Look, I forgive you. For—” she waved, taking in the entire conversation “--all of it, all right? But I’m still not wrong.” She made an aborted gesture, as though she was about to reach for him, then thought better of it. “This isn’t going to be pretty, Steve.” 

“I know.” 

“Someone I loved died in Philadelphia last week, and I’m going to see his killer brought in. That killer might be someone you loved.” She raised her hand as he opened his mouth. “I said _might_. That’s as good as you’ll get from me, so don’t even start. You can live in denial for as long as you want. That’s on you. But I _am_ going on that mission tomorrow.” 

Steve scrubbed his hands over his face. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” He stood up to walk her to the door. “But you need to know this, too. If Lukin’s found a lookalike, or—” he swallowed—“or if it’s a clone or something . . . that’s _not okay_. But if he’s _real_. . . . I’m not losing him again, Sharon. Not if there’s the slightest— It’s not an option.” 

She raised an eyebrow. “Think I figured that out before you did.”

“Yeah. You did.” They reached the doorway, and he checked the scanners to make sure no one was nearby to see Sharon walking out through the apparently-solid wall. “Thank you,” he said quietly. 

She just looked at him for a long moment. She looked—not _tired,_ because she was a strong person in her own right and a trained SHIELD agent on top of it. She could ignore _tired_. But she looked like field commanders he’d seen in the truly terrible moments, when there wasn’t quite a crisis and there was, instead, a huge pile of grief and shit that had to be dealt with. It was a look born of matter-of-fact resignation to persistence, because the only way to make _anything_ better was to keep going. 

“See you tomorrow, Steve.” 

**Author's Note:**

> If the embedding didn't work, see image here: https://artistichound.tumblr.com/post/175468383473/so-here-is-my-entry-for-the-2018-capreversebigbang
> 
> I'm working on extending this into a Steve/Bucky retelling of the whole _Winter Soldier_ omnibus, complete with more flashbacks. I'm histrionic-dragon on Tumblr if you want to come find me--may post some excerpts as I write.


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